The Perfect Outcome
The Perfect Outcome Ystara Mistleaf prided herself on being perfect in every way. She would hone her magic until her hands were sore, and pray to Elune until her knees bled and her throat was hoarse and dry. Some viewed her extraordinary piety as a deep dedication to the goddess, but that was not the case. What truly drove her was perfection. If there was ever an error in any task she undertook, she would do it again, and again, exhaustively until it was mastered. She must be perfect, as her ancestors had once been. Oh, if only she had been born a few thousand years earlier, in the days of Queen Azshara and the Highborne, how well would she have fit in! Perhaps the Queen might have named her as a handmaiden, as she had her great-great-aunt Izshri Mistleaf, who had once been the pride of their noble family. But it was simply not to be. The days of kaldorei nobility were dead and gone, no matter how desperately she clung to its remnants. It saddened her more than anything else. The sudden death of her mother had been a minor upset in comparison to this. Even watching her sister Feldris wither away from an unknown illness paled in comparison to the anguish she felt knowing that no matter how perfect she became, the world was simply too imperfect to accommodate her. In her mind, only Elune understood her plight, for the Goddess never failed to answer when she sought knowledge or power, though these answers usually took the form of cryptic visions and unknowable feelings more than coherent phrases. Still, Ystara felt she understood them all the same. She was perfect. There was nothing she could not know. ...Almost nothing. No matter how hard she tried, or how fervently she prayed, she never had any luck locating her traitorous sisters of whom she longed to bring to justice. Elune’s answers would be irrelevant whenever she asked, usually granting her a vision of wounded soldiers far away from her that would benefit from her healing. At first Ystara had followed these leads and healed these soldiers, hoping Elune would reward her with the information she desired. But it was not to be. She would be rewarded with power, as she normally was, and nothing more. She eventually surmised that perhaps both Feldris and Elyfar’s tainted spirits were so thoroughly befouled that the Goddess could not bear to spare them even the briefest of glances. That made sense to her, and she could not begrudge Elune that. Despite this, Ystara saw no point in giving up entirely on her pleas to her Goddess. Perhaps persistence was the key. Perhaps Elune was testing her resolve to this cause, and if that was the case, Ystara would show her the full extent of her tenacity. It was this that brought Ystara on yet another arduous pilgrimage across Azeroth, and even a short stop in Outland for good measure. She would visit every last moonwell and splash their sacred waters upon her face, thus strengthening her connection to Elune. She had completed this exact journey a number of times already, and each time the vision she would be granted at the end was stronger and more vivid than any other she had ever experienced. It was the best way to draw Elune’s attention. Ystara knelt by the edge of Ashenvale’s third moonwell, a little way east of Mystral Lake. Its waters swirled and shimmered with gentle light, sloshing delicately as Ystara stepped in. The water reached her knees and soaked the fine mooncloth of her robe, cool and pleasant against her skin. She knelt, drawing the water to her waist, and let out a calm breath. She closed her eyes, feeling enveloped in Elune’s grace for this fleeting moment, cupping her hands in the well and tipping the handful of water over her head. It rolled in glowing rivulets down her face and hair, bringing with it a sense of complete refreshment. There was much to do yet-- this was but the seventh moonwell she had visited so far-- but the prospect did not daunt her, for these moments of such complete connection to the Goddess and the world she so diligently watched made the strain and danger of all that came between them worth the pain. She was so caught up in this pleasant reverie that Ystara very nearly missed the flash of movement and rustle of leaves from a nearby bush that gave away the position of the figure that watched her. She stood abruptly, calling upon Elune to grant her a bright shield of pure moonlight. It came, of course, as it always did. She turned her attention to the bush she heard the noise from, noticing something stiffly unmoving behind the leaves that swayed in the gentle evening breeze. She stretched out a hand, and a shaft of moonlight illuminated the area in question. “Show yourself!” Ystara demanded, repeating her words again in Common for good measure. There was a hesitant twitch of movement from the figure, and then they finally emerged with great reluctance, allowing themselves to be seen. It was a Forsaken woman, a well-preserved one at that, wearing a brown shoulder-less gown and a matching headpiece that concealed her upper face, almost resembling a downturned crescent moon in shape. It was a puzzling choice of clothing, but Ystara was too surprised by the presence of an undead to question her fashion choices. “You have mere moments to explain yourself before I kill you, hateful creature!” Ystara hissed, already preparing a spell to obliterate the other woman on contact. Strangely, the Forsaken smiled at the threat. “It would be a great shame for you to do that, Lady Mistleaf, considering I may be the only one able to help you locate your sisters.” Ystara fell quiet at that, confusion spreading on her face. How did she know her name? ...How did she know her mission? The Forsaken’s smile grew when Ystara failed to reply. “Your surprise is understandable-- I too was unsure what to think when your Goddess instructed me to seek you out. I had not thought Elune would speak with someone of my... affliction.” Ystara frowned, doubtful. “Elune spoke with you? You truly expect me to believe my Goddess would converse with a human, and a dead one at that? You must be as foolish as you are repulsive.” The Forsaken shrugged. “Maybe. But if Elune did not speak with me, how is it I know your name? How is it I know every word you spoke to her? She showed me these things, Lady Mistleaf, so that I may prove my honesty to you.” There were still a great number of doubts in Ystara’s mind, but the other woman did have a point there. Unless she was capable of reading Ystara’s mind, there would be no other way she could know this-- and no one was capable of reading her mind. The spellwork that protected it was perfect. Ystara gradually lowered her hand, her magic dissipating. She would hear what this Forsaken had to say, if nothing else, and decide what to do with her afterwards. “Who are you?” Ystara asked. That seemed like a useful thing to know. The Forsaken woman answered without hesitation. “I am Yreine Greyhart. I was a warmage in service of the Kirin Tor before my death.” That quelled many of Ystara’s fears, and explained the slight sweet scent of arcane magic lingering on the dead woman. She moved on to her next question: “How do you propose to help me find my sisters?” “By searching for them,” Yreine answered. “With my magic, I can visit any corner of the world in the blink of an eye.” Again a very reasonable answer. Mages were conveniently mobile, and while Ystara had little interest in arcane magic herself, she knew how deeply Queen Azshara had coveted it. If someone of her standing believed it had great worth, then it must be very valuable indeed. “And what do you ask in return?” Ystara finished, with perhaps the most important question. Yreine smiled. “Absolutely nothing, Lady Mistleaf. In death I have realised the futility in gathering wealth, possessions or power. I exist, and that is enough.” That was a concept that Ystara found strange, but it was something she had heard several undead express before and chose not to dwell on it. She lived still-- it was not relevant to her. She looked Yreine up and down in a final check for anything suspicious, but found nothing remarkable about the woman at all. Her power seemed to be average at best, and nothing in her body language gave cause for concern. Why Elune had granted her such a mediocre assistant was unknowable-- but she would make do with what she had. This was the first time the Goddess had sent her anything even slightly helpful to her mission, and she would accept the help with grace and humility. Ystara stepped out of the moonwell and approached Yreine, enjoying how greatly she towered over the Forsaken. Yreine seemed unfazed by this, and smiled up at her calmly. “Well then, Yreine, I would be grateful for your assistance. I should warn you that both of my sisters are dangerous, and could harm you if approached. I would recommend magically subduing them if you are able, and then bringing them to me as soon as you can.” Yreine nodded. “Of course, Lady Mistleaf. I will be careful.” At that, the two went their separate ways: Ystara home to Darnassus now there was no need to complete her pilgrimage, and Yreine unhurriedly loitering around Ashenvale, pausing here and there to sniff a flower or taste a berry. She knew exactly where the missing Mistleaf sisters were, and she fully intended to make Ystara wait. After all, her plan would need some time to become... perfect. Category:Stories